


When in Hedonia...

by hellkitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Community: trope_bingo, Crack, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's probably a way to take the trope-bingo trope 'fuck or die' and create a serious, intense fic out of it. But once you add Rodimus, it becomes nearly impossible.  Less smutty than advertised. </p><p>Mildest spoilers for MTMTE 13</p>
            </blockquote>





	When in Hedonia...

“Come on,” Rodimus said, with that dangerous smile of his. “No one will even miss us.”

“We shouldn’t,” Drift said. “What if something happens and they need us?”

“Need us? Tsk. Drift,” Rodimus chastised, “Have faith in your fellow Autobots.”

“Whirl is with them,” Drift said, pointedly. “And Cyclonus.” Who was not, technically, an Autobot. 

An airy wave at the mention of the ex-Wrecker. “And Cyclonus. Fine.” He shrugged. “But you’re forgetting the secret weapon: they’ve got Ultra Magnus there. He’s like an anti-trouble magnet.  Frag, we’re more likely to find them stuck in an intersection waiting for a crosswalk light while Ultra Magnus checks everyone for emissions or something.” 

Drift cocked his helm. “Is that supposed to be reassuring? Like, on any level?”

“Of course it is. They’ll be fine.” He clucked, shaking Drift by the spaulder. “Loosen up, Drift. They all survived the war, for frag’s sake. I think they can survive a night of shore leave.”

[***]

“I  have a feeling I should be saying ‘I told you so’,” Drift said, his optics studying the blank grey wall of the cell in front of him. Which was the match of the blank grey walls beside and behind him, and the blank grey ceiling, and the blank grey floor…Drift was beginning to sense a theme, here. 

Rodimus groaned, rubbing his helm, stirring back online. “I don’t remember you telling me anything about getting mugged in an alleyway, though.”

Drift shrugged, hands closing over empty air where his swords usually lay. “If we hadn’t gone down that way….”

“Hey! Did you want to explain to Skids why we were checking up on them from the bushes? Because you’re a Nervous Nanobot?”

Drift frowned, grudgingly conceding the point.  “The problem is, though,  we have to get out of here, and get back, before anyone misses us.” He scrubbed a hand over his helm. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Hey!” Rodimus said sharply. “I never have bad ideas. They just get…complicated.”

“Complicated.” Drift turned to the other mech, palms spread. “We’re locked in a cube.”  That’s about as complicated as it got. 

“Yeah well…give me a minute. Something’ll come to me.”

“Another bad idea, probably.” Drift said, glumly, turning away, running his hands down the seams in the walls, looking for some sort of, well, anything. 

Rodimus huffed. “Have a little faith, Drift.”  He turned, studying the ceiling, arms folded over his chassis, screwing his face up into a position of extreme concentration.

Which, Drift thought, looked absolutely painful.

A sound of a comm crackling to life. “You have returned to functional status,” a bland, autotuned voice said.

“Yeah!” Rodimus whirled, looking for a speaker. “You wanna show yourself and we’ll show you exactly how fraggin’ functional.”

A pause, just long enough for Rodimus to smirk, before the voice spoke again. “Apt turn of phrase, Cybertronian.”

“Cybertronian,” Drift whispered. “They know what we are, Rodimus.”

“Not exactly the mystery of the ages, Drift,” Rodimus snorted.

“I mean, maybe they’re going to try to, you know, hand us over to the Galactic Council.” Which, from their last meeting, wasn’t likely to be very fun.

For a klik, even Rodimus’s face went sober, before he shook it off. “Way to look on the bright side, there, Drift.” His spoiler flicked, and he raised his voice. “All right, you. What do you want from us?”

“Simply this: perform. Or perish.”  Even through the tuning, the words managed to carry some sort of sinister reverberation. 

“Perform?” Drift asked. “Perform what?”

Rodimus rolled his optics. “Seriously, Drift.  Sometimes I wonder about you. You know what they mean.”

“I…don’t. Really.”  Perform what? They were unarmed, locked in a room that didn’t even have any furniture.

A light flared on, revealing from a panel in the ceiling, a tight white beam focused on Rodimus’s crotch. Rodimus snickered. “Guess they know the star of this show, at least.” 

“Your…?” Drift blinked. “Perform? As in…that way?”

Rodimus gave a waggle of his hips, giggling as the light followed it, faultlessly. “Looks like it.” He rounded on Drift, a sly smile spreading on his face. 

Drift stepped back, hands up, until his spaulders bumped the wall. “Rodimus. We can’t. I mean, here? And…I mean, what about the others and OOOHfragyourhandsarecold.” Drift squirmed as Rodimus’s hands slipped open his interface hatch, wrapping around the shaft of his spike.

  
“One way to warm them up,” Rodimus said, coyly.

“Rodimus,” Drift said, the word coming out a plaintive little bleat, even as his hips rocked, sliding his spike through the circle of Rodimus’s fingers. 

“Drift,” Rodimus echoed. “Hey, come on. They want a show?” He leaned in closer, letting a hot vent of air gust over Drift’s throat, chuckling at the tremor that ran through the swordsmech’s frame.  “Let’s give them a show.”

[***]

*two decacycles later*

Blaster fussed happily over the comm array. They’d been in FTL for ages, and it felt really good to be able to get the communications ansible fired up again, just to have some contact with the outside world.  “Getting the news, Rewind?”

“It’s coming in,” Rewind said. “Mostly entertainment stuff, though, right now.” His voice had that slightly-too-light pitch that meant that he was not-so-secretly filing most of it to his own drive for later.

Rewind jerked upright, optics blinking, startled.

“What? What’s up?” Blaster was so not in the mood for surprises. They’d had more than enough of the bad kind already: sparkeaters, Galactic Council threats, those thingies that made Ultra Magnus smile.... And then he began to think that he’d spent too much time with Red Alert. 

“It’s…uh…this.” Rewind tapped a few keys, and a file’s bright frontpage splashed on the screen.  ‘BANGIN' BOTS: the bunny and the flame’ was trumpeted in a bright, ornate script, and below that…

Blaster tilted his head one way. Then the other.  Then tried turning the image upside down.  “Is that who I think it…is…?”

Rewind nodded, gravely. “Rodimus and Drift. Yeah.”

Another long look, trying to untangle the intricate knot of limbs.

“And,” Rewind offered, one optic distant in the way that indicated he was watching the file.  “It’s really fraggin’ hot.”

“Did not need to know that,” Blaster said. 

“Apparently, Drift’s a screamer.”

“DID NOT NEED TO KNOW THAT.”

“Know what?” The door behind them opened to reveal Rodimus himself, huffy and impatient. “Comm up yet?”

Blaster slammed a hand down on the controls, trying to blank the screen and its bright cover image.  And, of course, in the Murphy’s Law of personal embarrassment, locking the screen instead.

Rodimus strolled over.  Rewind and Blaster shot each other tense, blaming looks, tanks nearly flipping in nerves. And trying really, really hard not to think about Rodimus, you know, that way. Which was hard, when there was an image right in front of all of them of Rodimus. That way. 

“Heh,” Rodimus said, his mouth curving to its usual grin. “Looks like at least they got my good side.”

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, we all know that ALL of Rodimus's sides are his good side. ^_~


End file.
